Dark Reflection
by Rapis-Razuri
Summary: Looking at each other was like looking into a mirror, though the eyes of his reflection were nothing like his own. In the Outrealms, Morgan encounters a mysterious enemy that seems all too familiar. [The Future Past 1 - Morgan centric]


******Title**: Dark Reflection  
******Author**: Rapis-Razuri  
******Beta**: ObsessiveCompulsiveValkyrie  
******Word Count**: 3,851  
******Game**: ___Awakening  
_******Characters/Pairings**: Morgan, Chrom/Robin  
**Notes**: In addition to Valk for her beta work, as always, I'd like to give a thanks to brunosaurs4 and greatnerdowl for their kind words when I complained about not knowing how/when to end this on tumblr :)

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It didn't take long for the risen general guarding the entrance to the room on the northern end of the corridor to succumb to Morgan's Thoron spell. It landed on its back, its bulky red armor made a dull thunk against the floor boards before it dissolved into black mist.

Once the corridor was empty, Morgan leaned against the wall and wiped his brow, allowing himself a moments rest before proceeding. It hadn't been easy aiming for the chink where its resistance against magic was the weakest, but he had managed to do it and finished the armored guard before it even saw him coming.

The south end of the mansion was mostly secured. Reinforcements from the basements were still appearing, but the Shepherds there, including his father, were taking care of them without much trouble. This world's Nah and Noire had been rescued and were being protected by their parents. He hoped that Cynthia and Kjelle were faring just as well with the group that was led by his mother at the northern end.

Somebody in the Shepherds casted a Fortify spell. Morgan gave the caster a mental thanks, glad to be healed up just in case the enemy commander was waiting in the next room as he had suspected.

As for what he was doing here all alone, Morgan had noticed during the battle that the risen seemed to be prioritizing Nah and Noire over the Shepherds, sometimes ignoring them altogether to attack the unarmed girls. He had thought this was rather strange, as risen typically attacked whatever targets it could see. Furthermore, the girls in the prisons were unarmed and had no way to escape, but the Shepherds were battle ready and had the initial element of surprise. If risen were capable of strategy, it would have made much more sense to take out the bigger threat first. That alone had been enough to cause a raised eyebrow, but not too long after he made these observations, the enemy had changed tactics in response to their unexpected presence.

This sudden change in the risen's behavior convinced the young tactician that they were being controlled by Grimleal and the four currently in distress hadn't been simply unlucky, but were ambushed when they stopped to rest. He had heard from his mother about how Aversa had been able to summon risen archers when they tried to rescue Exalt Emmeryn during the war with Plegia and about the strange behavior of the risen they encountered in Carrion Isle. After putting two and two together, he deduced that if he could take out the person controlling them, then it will likely make the rest of the battle easier for them.

Of course, he had absolutely no logical reason what so ever to think that the commander was even in the building. He just had a really, _really _strong gut feeling that they were.

Morgan tightened a hand around the hilt of his rapier. Though his proficiency with the weapon wasn't quite on the same caliber as his father and Lucina, he made up for that with the flexibility that came with the ability switch between the magic and swordplay with practiced ease in battle. Either way, he was glad to have the weapon on him as he didn't know how much longer his tome would last.

Preparing a spell so it would be ready to fly at a moment's notice, Morgan laid a hand on the door knob and found that he was able to turn it easily. He pressed his back against the door and very cautiously opened it.

Instantly, Morgan shuddered for no apparent reason. He knew that some dark mages could cast a thin layer of magic in the area around themselves to intimidate the enemy as soon so they were within range. According to Tharja and Henry, an enchantment like that was actually a kind of curse and a relatively elementary one at that, so would that mean there was a curse practitioner behind this door.

The room was mostly empty. Paintings aligned the walls and there were two treasure chests against the walls - perhaps it had been a storage or treasury before it's former owners had to abandon it? - and if they had the time, he would've made a mental note to himself to ask Gaius to pick them later, but it was unlikely considering the fire. While supplies must be hard to come by in this world if what sister told him about their future was any indication, getting everybody out safely was far more important. In order to do that though, he needed to take down the enemy commander.

In the dim illumination provided by the torches, the amnesic prince could see there was somebody inside. He recognized the figure as part of the Grimleal by his or her cloak. Turns out his instincts were right after all.

The sorcerer noticed him at almost immediately at the same time. "Who are you? How did you get here?" a male voice rasped. The shadowy physique moved to ready his dark tome. Morgan was too far away to see the cover to identify which one it was specifically. "I won't parley with you. My heart belongs to Grima now. You will not sway me from my master."

Well... There goes the thought of negotiation. Morgan was drawing a blank on what to say to get a member of a cult worshipping the harbinger of the apocalypse to surrender anyway.

"If you insist on interfering, I swear I will destroy you!"

Something about this sorcerer's words and voice sent a chill down Morgan's spine, but he pushed the thought aside. There would be plenty of time for reflection _after _the battle was finished. He released his hold on the Thoron spell just as the sorcerer on the other side of the room did the same.

Morgan's beam of electricity met the purple aura of the enemy sorcerer in the middle of the room. The two spells canceled each other out, but the backlash pushed the combatants backwards and caused some of the paintings on the walls to fall.

Through the sounds of electricity hissing and canvases breaking, Morgan heard a frantic laugh. From the sorcerer? No, not the sorcerer. Morgan knew he heard that specific laugh before in the desert just outside the Dragon's Table. At least now he knows what spellbook his enemy was using. He didn't know if know if knowing it was Goetia would make a difference, but no information gained about his enemy was useless information.

Nonetheless, Morgan began thinking of the quickest way to defeat his enemy. Users of dark magic were typically more resilient than other mages, but they were still more vulnerable to physical attacks than magical. He needed to get closer, but running head on would be stupid. His opponent packed far more magical might in a single casting than he did, so how to get in close without taking too much damage?

He moved briefly into the torchlight and he thought he heard his opponent gasp. Regardless, the sorcerer shook off whatever had troubled him and fired a spell Morgan's way. By shooting a Thoron at the aura just in time, the amnesiac managed to avoid the brunt of the spell, but he still felt the pain of impact. If this was only a fraction of Goetia's power, he hated to think of what being hit fully with it would be like.

Soldiering the pain, Morgan shot a beam of the thunder magic towards his opponent, but it was easily evaded.

_What the...? _

Narrowly dodging one of his enemy's spells, he returned the favor by shooting another, mostly experimental, beam hoping his first miss had been a fluke. Once again, he missed his intended target.

_Was it that aura he was emitting? _

Remembering one of Mother's first lessons, Morgan tried his best to stay calm and casted another Thoron. This time though, he split the spell into five separate smaller and individually weaker, but faster rays of green-laced light. The first one missed, the second managed to graze his target's shoulder, the third fizzled out when it came into contact with the more powerful dark magic, but the last two were able to hit.

Now Morgan knew for sure that _something _was interfering with his aim. Not enough to render his magic unable to hit, but enough to make trying quite the infuriating experience. He recalled overhearing some of the army's mages making reports of similar happenings to Robin after battles with Plegia's army of well trained dark mages. He hadn't really understood the explanation Mirel had provided then, but the gist of it seemed to be that certain sorcerers have reached a level of proficiency where they would instinctively know where a spell would show itself or hit with greater certainty as soon as it was cast.

It was defiantly a troublesome skill, but luckily for Morgan, it only affected magic. As a result, it meant it was all the more important to get closer so he could use his sword.

Another Goetia and, this time, Morgan knew at once he couldn't avoid it. Acting quickly, he threw up a spherical barrier around himself. It didn't void the damage completely, but it did lessen it. Winded as he was blasted against the west wall, Morgan was glad that all those hours spent dodging Laurent's carefully controlled fireballs, Noire's practice arrows, and the occasional dragonbreath had not been in vain.

Scrambling up from the ground as quickly as he could, Morgan looked up to see what his opponent was doing and approximate how much time he had before he was attacked again. That was when he noticed something else about the combat arena he hadn't before. There was a chandelier hanging from the ceiling above, or at least very close to, the sorcerer's head. Once he was aware of this, a plan sprung into his head. He just needed a little distraction...

Morgan called up the last of his tome's power. He had one shot. He needed to make this count.

He aimed at the chandelier. This opponent was a little confused when he realized that Morgan hadn't fired the Thoron spell at him, but quickly realized what was happening when he heard the sound of thunder breaking rusted metal. _Perfect_. His enemy moved off slightly to the side and towards him to avoid the falling chandelier quickly. Adrenaline coursed though him when he saw this opportunity. Dropping his now useless book, Morgan unsheathed his rapier and, taking advantage of the diversion the chandelier caused, closed the distance between them.

The sorcerer cursed when he realized Morgan was no longer fighting him magic to magic. Still, even with his distance advantage gone, the Grimleal was still a fierce opponent. The two continued to exchange blows. The sorcerer was no longer sending out blasts of magic as he had when there were still space between them, settling for smaller bursts of magic that were less powerful but quicker to execute, but he still managed to block most of Morgan's thrusts and blows.

Gritting his teeth, Morgan realized his enemy was starting to falter. It was likely that he wasn't used to fighting like this. Now, he needed to be on the lookout for an opening.

The sorcerer staggered. Morgan smirked. _Game over_.

Turning his body and bringing his sword around with a leap, the blue-haired tactician made his finishing move. With a swipe that left petals in its wake, the sorcerer's headdress in clattered to the floor two. Landing gracefully on his feet not too far away, Morgan knew he had managed to cut more than fabric because of the anguished scream that followed. The sorcerer was now on the ground, clutching his face in pain, his Goetia tome feet away from him.

Before Morgan could relish in his victory or even move forward to take the dark tome to guarantee that his downed enemy would be unarmed once he collected himself, he felt a burning sensation in his own face as though it was being cut through with an invisible knife . He dropped his sword and found himself on the ground, not unlike the sorcerer across from him.

When he became accustomed to the ache enough for him to let go, Morgan weakly got to his knees. His rapier hadn't fallen far so he was able to reclaim it without trouble, albeit with a shaky hand.

Gripping the sword hilt as support, he looked across at his unmasked enemy and nearly tumbled to the ground again.

The sorcerer looked _exactly _like him. It was like looking into a mirror.

Or _almost _like looking into a mirror. When their eyes met, Morgan nearly shuddered at how much darker the pair belonging to his droppelganger's were. No hint of a smile or anything of the sunny disposition Morgan was known for amongst the Shepherds.

_No... _

By looking into the eyes of this familiar stranger, Morgan could tell that despite the likeness in semblance, they lead utterly different lives. A harsher life where there were neither reason nor purpose to smile, where usefulness was valued over camaraderie, and those who did not meet expectations were disposed of and then replaced in contrast to a life where there would always be something worth living for no matter how bleak it gets, where bonds were valued above all else, and everyone, both weak and strong, had a place.

_Could he see the same things I can see? _

His droppelganger was bleeding from a wound that rested between his eyes and across his nose. Morgan was vaguely aware of blood dripping down his face from what he was sure was a similar cut across his own.

Knowing that a winner had been decided, the two combatants simply knelt there and _stared _at each other. Nothing else seemed to exist or matter. The only noise they could hear was two sets of uneven breathing.

"Who...?" Morgan gasped out when he finally caught his breath. "Who are you?"

"A servant of the Fell Dragon," the sorcerer growled in response. "Nothing more...nothing less."

_No... It can't be... _

"But _why_?" _Could this really be...me? "_Why would you serve Grima, knowing it would lead to the world's destruction?"

"I don't care." Morgan flinched at the tone of the statement. He never imagined that his own voice was even _capable _of sounding so cold and uncaring. "As long as I can remain by Master Grima's side, all else is of no concern to me."

Hearing the way this person who may or may not be another version of himself dismissed everything that Morgan held precious in his life made something in his blood boil. Angrier than he could ever remember being, Morgan felt his voice tremble when he spoke. "Cynthia... Kjelle... Noire... Nah..." He named the girls the sorcerer had been about to sentence to death. "They used to be your friends, didn't they? How could you just order them to be killed like that? Don't they mean _anything _to you?"

He saw a flicker of emotion across his reflection's face, something akin to regret and sorrow, but it was as gone as quickly as it appeared. "I have no friends," the Grimleal spat. "I have no need for friends! Not when I have Master Grima! I only need Master Grima! No one else!"

It was hard to say if he was trying to convince Morgan or himself. A weak smile tugged at the tactician's lips. "Is that so?"

The sorcerer seemed to realize he had said too much. If looks could kill Morgan would have fallen over dead right this instant from the glare he was given. "What about your family?" The Brand of the Exalt on the back of his left hand seemed to prickle as he said this.

_Does he have the brand? Or did it never surface for him? If so, is that why he chose Grima? _

"It's none of your business!" the questioned snarled venomously, "You don't see me asking you why you're siding with these Ylissians, do you? They're done for! Master Grima has seen to that! Even if you have won them this battle, they're still going to lose the war!"

Morgan bit back a retort. That may be so, but Naga had called them here for a reason didn't she? They must have a chance. But the Grimleal didn't know that and it was better if they didn't. Morgan had no doubts that he would warn Grima of this turn of events, but against all pragmatic reasoning, he knew he couldn't bring himself to kill him.

In the distance, Morgan heard voices and the sound of footsteps. He internally smiled. Looks like Nah managed to find reinforcements for him after all. She was a little late, but he was nonetheless grateful that she trusted him enough to deliver on his request without much of an explanation.

The eastern door was blasted open with a Thoron spell. Morgan nearly cried out in relief when he saw that it was his mother, closely followed by Lucina. Their gazes swept over the room, noting the broken chandelier and several fresh burn spots on the walls.

Another set of footsteps halted behind him. The prince turned around and was once again relieved to see it was his father in the doorway.

In utter contrast to Morgan's relief, the Grimleal wore an expression of open shock, astonishment and...longing? Nonetheless, he outnumbered and surrounded. This sorcerer hissed in frustration and warped away before any of the others could get a good look at him.

With the immediate danger gone, his reinforcements lowered their weapons slightly, but stayed on guard.

Morgan felt himself swaying. He felt oddly satisfied when he recalled the look on this mirror image when his parents and sister had burst into the room. _So... I guess family still means something to you, doesn't it? _

"Morgan!" Chrom rushed forward to steady his son. Morgan grinned up at him. "Hey, Dad..."

There was an exasperated - and relived - breath of laughter. "Gods, Morgan," the older man groaned, "You had me so worried and all you can say is 'hey'?"

"S-sorry..."

Robin took out a handkerchief and began wiping some of the blood on her son's face. "The fires are spreading," she said, "We need to get out of the building and regroup with the others. Can you walk?"

Morgan nodded. He pressed his mother's handkerchief against his wound to stem the blood flow. Regardless of what he said, Chrom and Lucina moved to support him between them as they followed Robin to the exit.

Once they were outsides and a safe distance away, Chrom advised Morgan to sit down. Robin reached into her cloak and took out a concoction. She knelt before her son and began dabbling at his wound with a clean portion of her handkerchief. Morgan was in half-mind to tell her he could take care of his own injuries, but he felt utterly exhausted, both physically and mentally, so he decided to tolerate the coddling right this moment.

Lucina stayed on guard while her parents attended to her brother, her Falchion still in her hands. She waved up at a pegasus - Sumia, perhaps? - that was flying in the sky above them. The pegasus circled the group of four a few times before flying away.

Chrom decided to take this time to engage in some scolding. "I know I shouldn't be one to talk, but that was extremely reckless, charging in to face the enemy commander alone! What were you thinking?"

Eyes narrowed in concentration, Robin didn't say anything, but the way she pushed her lips indicated that she agreed wholeheartedly with her husband.

So he told them about what he saw in the risen and how he had been right when he had encountered the sorcerer. "We fought," he explained. "And I managed to unmask him..." Robin was finished applying the medicine. She looked at her son intensely.

"Morgan? What's wrong?"

Morgan looked helplessly at his family. Would they hate him? Reject him? He knew his father's opinion of the Grimleal wasn't the most favorable and what about Lucina? Siding with Grima meant that the him of this world was siding against _her_.

Then he remembered the times they spent together - trying to trick Mother into falling into pitfall traps. Spending hours staring at Father hoping to remember something, _anything_. Screaming bloody murder with his sister at the sight of a giant cockroach in his tent - and their concern for him now. That had to mean _something_, right?

"He looked like me," he said finally. When he received only puzzled frowns, he elaborated, "That Grimleal looked like me... I think it _was _me. This world's me."

Lucina turned her head back, her eyes widened in shock. She seemed to be struggling with her words. "He...he's not you, Morgan."

"How can you know that for certain?" Morgan shot back. He hadn't meant to be so harsh when she was only trying to reassure him, but his encounter with that mysterious figure brought all the fears and insecurities about his identity before losing his memories up to the surface. Hadn't Lucina said he just _vanished _one day? So really, who could say for certain what kind of life he lead between then and mysteriously ending up in those ruins? "What if that really was me?"

"Then it still wouldn't matter one bit." Robin said quietly. She put the medicine away and looked him in the eye. "Listen to me carefully, okay?"

The younger tactician nodded.

"I know what it's like," she turned her right hand backwards to him. Though it was covered by the glove she wore, Morgan knew what she meant. _She _was Grima, after all. "But you are not defined by what another you did in some future past."

Morgan opened his mouth, but his mother cut him off, knowing what he was about to say. "So what if that person was who you were before you lost your memory? You are not like that now and _that _is what's important. Learn from the past, Morgan but you mustn't let it weigh you down." Robin took his hands. "Even if these hands have destroyed, they are still capable of rebuilding if you have the strength to make it so. Never forget that."

"Mom..." Morgan wiped his eyes on his sleeves, though careful not to smear the concoction.

Robin smiled kindly. "Better?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Chrom affectionately ruffled his hair. He had said nothing while Morgan was being consoled by his mother, but had shown his support by keeping a steady hand on his shoulder. "If you have a problem, talk to us. You don't have go through anything on your own."

"I know," Morgan sniffed, "Thanks Dad."

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Elsewhere, miles away in a place where he could neither be seen nor heard, another young blue haired boy finally broke down and cried.

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******A/N**: I've wanted to do a Morgan fic for a while now and I came up with the idea "what if Morgan (the playable one) ran into boss!Morgan in the Future Past?"

This fic was pretty much my first real attempt at writing an action scene. I tried to include bits of gameplay elements into it, namely skills, in a way that makes it obvious that the fic is referring to them, but I didn't want to make it seem forced in just for the sake of it. Anathema, Tomebreaker, Astra, Aegis, Ignis and Counter all made appearances/cameos, but not all of them work 100% the way they do in-game. I know Counter doesn't activate when the enemy is defeated, for one.

Also, Morgan uses a rapier because I want him to, game mechanics be damned.

Thanks for reading!


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